Modus Operandi
by Starzzu
Summary: 1888 AU UKUS Getting a chance to be on the police force of Scotland Yard was something like a dream to Alfred Jones; a dream that became a reality. He wanted nothing more than to solve murder cases and now he and the entire police force are met with a gruesome chain of them, all by one individual labeled as "Jack the Ripper." He's dead-set on solving these crimes... or die trying
1. August 14, 1888

**A/N: **I find it more difficult to write a story the longer it goes on (like, more than two chapters). Anyone else feel that way? No? Alright then, it's apparent I'm just lazy. But never mind that, you all have come here to read this story, not my other . . "stories" if you will. Truthfully, I've been looking back on my writing and decided that I _need _to improve. Seriously. Compared to many other amazing fictions mine are - relatively speaking - butt. If it's my goal to become a famous author then I will have to try harder than I have been as of late. So if any of you notice my lack of updating, don't be afraid to PM me with a good wake-up slap. Chances are that I need it. I'll accept it with honor and personally thank you.

On the topic of this story, how many of you guys like Jack the Ripper?

I have only recently took an interest in him and I am so glad I did. I think he's an amazing guy, despite him killing "five" people in gruesome ways. What amazes me the most is that the police could never identify him, and they never will. It's been over a hundred years and yet they still don't know who the real Jack was. You have to admit that is pretty cool. Why would it not be? Rumor has it he stopped killing because he either died, got arrested, or came over here to the States. Scary to think he could of actually ventured over here . . . But he's dead now, so really there's nothing to worry about. Well, besides the idea of somebody mirroring his acts. Now _that's _a frightening thought. If you find Jack the Ripper interesting I recommend reading _The Name of the Star _by _Maureen Johnson. _You won't be disappointed. It's frightening but so good you won't be able to put it down. If any of you read a really good Ripper book (or any at all) please tell me because I'd love to read anything Jack the Ripper I can get my hands on.

Just a quick note that the characters murdered in this fiction are the original five and other true murders, not at all fake.

This story is a twist on Jack the Ripper that follows an eighteen-year-old Alfred getting accepted to work at Scotland Yard all the way over in London, and with him come five twisted, bloody, sickening murders in and around the Whitechapel area. The officer in charge of him is a one Arthur Kirkland, who guides him on his way to become part of the service. Alfred's rather good at murder cases, so maybe he'll be able to find out who has been committing these ones?_ . . . or die trying. _

Any questions, comments, or critics are completely welcome! I'll answer questions to the best of my ability, but I won't give anything away. The only person that knows anything is my friend in real life, and that's the only one that needs to know. Just no flames, for I have no need for them and I don't see why you would read a story you know you wouldn't like (*cough*Twilight*cough*). Also, a poll is located on my profile for whatever fiction you guys would like to see next. Please take a minute out of your life and vote.

**Warnings: **If you are not up for stories that contain bucket after bucket of blood, detailed descriptions of gory murders, psychotic killer/rapists, same-gender sex, and other various non-PG things I recommend to you that you should not read this unless you truly want to. This had some romance in it and it IS a UKUS fiction. I am not responsible for _your _lack of smarts if you decided upon reading this and do not enjoy it - rather, you hate it. Remember that and proceed with caution.

Another semi-warning is that this isn't your ordinary Hetalia USUK (vice-versa) fiction. In this, Alfred is not built strongly but instead has a weak frame that just barely holds him up and is infected with a disease without a name. The "disease" causes the victim brittle bones, weak health, and an ever-malfunctioning heart. He's pale (skin is nearly transparent), slender (weight just scrapes a 100lbs), stands no more than 5'6" (possibly 5'5"), and is majorly affected by the cold due to his weak body (muscles spasm and lock together). He is also more smart than dumb and knows his place. But his determined personality will remain the same.

And without further adieu, I present you with my most interesting story yet . . .

* * *

_Modus Operandi _

_Written by Starzzu_

_I_

_August 14, 1888_

* * *

_Most experts point to deep throat slashes, abdominal and genital-area mutilation, removal of internal organs, and progressive facial mutilations as the distinctive features of Jack the Ripper's modus operandi._

_Modus Operandi - Method of Operation_

* * *

Abnormally cold August winds wafted into a rundown apartment building through a smudged open window. A single droplet of liquid crystal hung from a puddle of water adorning the cracked ceiling, the watery string connecting the substances growing thinner and thinner by the light gusts of wind until it finally gave way under the pressure and snapped without a sound, the little drop falling without any recognition down to the oaken desk below. A _plop _resounded throughout the entire vicinity of the small apartment as the droplet splattered upon contact with the hard surface. The only being currently occupying the room paid it no mind in favor of keeping unbelieving bloodshot cerulean eyes on a crinkled piece of parchment, the blurred wet ink somehow still legible after its rough, over-seas mailing. Slender fingers attached to pale, bony hands clenched the paper hard enough for the whites of knuckles to show, alarmingly blending in with the complexion of skin to almost the same shade.

A drenched envelop was put off to the side, the red wax seal smeared and broken. The writing was once presumably elegant cursive, but now it had the appearance as if somebody had dumped it in the ocean; the black ink coated the envelop's white surface nastily to make a horrid gray color and the postage stamp was hanging on hinges, ready to fall off at any given moment. The envelop had barely protected its important contents from the onslaught of beastly weather on its journey, though it did considerably suffer much more damage than its partner. By the time it reached its destination the seal was partially ripped open. But none of that was of importance to the damp paper held in anemic hands.

Adam's apple bobbing with an uneasy swallow, the teen - now almost a young adult - drew his eyelids together tautly, cynical to this whole thing. There was no absolute way in hell this was real. But as he gradually opened his eyes the sheet was there, and perfectly tangible by what his fingers told him. Eyes scanned the letter once more behind clear glasses, engraving each word into memory:

_Dear Alfred F. Jones,_

_ We here at Scotland Yard received and read your letter asking if you would be eligible for apprenticeship. You included a well put together r__ésumé and letter of recommendation_ from a former boss of yours, which we thoroughly looked over. The school courses you took are right enough, but if you come studying is not going to leave you just yet. Judging that everything in your _r__ésumé is true, you are entitled to be an apprentice of one of the officers here, though who is undecided upon currently. They will show you the ropes and teach you anything from dealing with shoplifters to serial killers. Follow every order your officer gives you without question, unless it's for educational purposes. We expect you to bring basic supplies but will provide you certain necessities for your training here along with other things. Be at the station no later than 30 August please. We do understand that traveling from America to England is not going to be easy so an enclosed ticket should be located in the envelop. If it happened to get misplaced during the journey over to America are sincerest apologies are given; we will give you the ticked cost when you arrive here in either currency you wish. But if not it is for use at any date in August, so do leave when you get the chance. Alongside the ticket should be a map of London, which you can use to find the station and any other places you may want to explore. Anything else of importance will be told to you in person by your chosen officer. Have a safe trip and pack warmly.  
_

_____- Metropolitan Police Service_

It was undoubtedly there. The parchment, the ink, each carefully written word. All of it was there. This was no illusion or dream. No, this was reality, and it was hitting Alfred like a lightning bolt.

He had done it. He had actually gotten accepted to train with the police of Scotland Yard, thousands of miles away in London. The entire thing was like a fantasy from a storybook. Only it was real. However he got picked didn't even matter anymore because he did. The world could go under an apocalypse and Alfred would be oblivious to it all. Even the most simplest things - like breathing - were suddenly ten times harder.

On April 3rd a revolting murder had happened in Whitechapel, on Osborn Street. The victim was an older woman of forty-five, named Emma Elizabeth Smith. From what Alfred knew of the details Smith had been robbed and sexually assaulted on that street, but had not died until that following day at a hospital due to injuries to her peritoneum and developing peritonitis from an unknown object inserted into her vagina during the assault. Surges of pride always flooded his guts whenever he realized just how good he was at learning about murder cases. Not a week after the news became known did Alfred send away his letter to Scotland Yard, not exactly expecting a reply. But now here he was with a letter in hand and a small smile on his face. And the letter had only arrived a few days after another murder was discovered in Whitechapel. Again, like the last, the victim was a female and a prostitute.

The victim's name was Martha Tabram. On the seventh she was murdered; thirty-nine stab wounds from the neck down to the stomach, heart and lungs included. The location was at George Yard in Whitechapel, similar to the previous murder. And that's what got Alfred curious and wondering if maybe there would be a chain of possible murders starting up. The thought got Alfred slightly excited. What if he finally found a job he could do right and get a decent pay from? It's just what he needed. He wanted to learn all the information they had, even more about the two murders he already was introduced to.

Feelings swarmed around his stomach, butterflies making him unbearably queasy. They tickled painfully at his innards, playing with each organ one at a time, getting him more and more anxious at each touch. His heart beat furiously against his chest as though it were about to burst out. He could feel it pump warm blood through his veins, the sensation disturbing him yet at the same time fascinating him. The rhythmic beat of his heart kept pushing the metallic substance around his body's complicated network of veins and every twist and turn it offered. His brain pounded against in head from the plasma gathering there, earning a moan from his chapped pink lips. It hurt, oh God it hurt. To just know this bit of information felt like a hundred needles shoved bone-deep in his skin. The feeling was so icy it burned his skin.

Alfred blinked. Actually, he swore he looked paler than normal. Could a letter really do that? Another gust of cold wind blew into the apartment. He dropped the letter in favor of moving his stiff limbs around his thin body, arms shaking as he did.

How long had it been this cold? All that he remembered was sitting down with an unopened envelop sometime in the evening and . . . Was it really that late already?

In the split second it took to blink Alfred was out of his desk chair and to his poor excuse for a bed. How could he just of let the time go by like that without him even noticing?! Dammit, he wanted to board the boat to England first thing tomorrow and now he defiantly would not be getting enough sleep! Did that letter really cause him such shock? And to add to the list of casualties was that his skin was as cold as ice. He even felt like a walking block of ice. The only warmth his bed provided was an old fluffy quilt. Great, what if he got sick?

"Aghh, now's not the time Alfred," he scolded himself while searching for a suitcase he knew was located somewhere under his bed. His hand brushed something firm. Wasting no time in pulling the dust-coated object out, Alfred looked around his room for what he would need. He collected any clothing for London weather that just happened to catch his interest. Other items he knew he could not leave without were thrown into the mess building up in his suitcase. Pausing to regain his lost breath, Alfred glanced at the overfilled case containing his various items. He hoped to death the thing would close properly - he barely had enough money to pay the rent as it was, never mind buying a new suitcase.

Heaving the heavy case onto his bed, Alfred glared down at it. This thing was getting closed one way or another.

Since his brain was basically going into shutdown mode the only remotely smart action he did was flop down on top of the case, using whatever little body weight he possessed to close it. Eventually, after seven tries, he succeeded.

Shoving the offending object away, the teen threw himself back onto the bed, sprawled out and exhausted. It was now, when his mind was off the task of packing for his trip, that Alfred remembered his empty stomach; his latest meal was breakfast, which was quite over ten hours ago. He was starving, but sadly there wasn't anything he could do about his problem. Not one crumb was in his apartment and no store would be open at this late hour. He would just have to deal with the hunger pains, like every other time.

A hard pulse of burning cold blasted through his veins.

Alfred sucked in a harsh breath and thrusted back roughly into the mattress, spine throbbing with stiffness as it shifted positions. His blue eyes were wrenched open and glazed with agony, clear tears brimming at the edges, threatening to fall. The color of his skin was already a deathly shade of white and the slight blue-gray tint slowly growing was only worsening the condition. Beneath his skin the joints of his bones felt locked in place; he nudged his right index finger curiously just for it to remain frozen in protest, growing more sore after the effort.

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, Alfred suppressed any pained moans and instead replaced them with feeble whimpers. Metallic liquid touched his tongue, dribbling out to form a small pool stretching from his chin down to his collarbone. His neck pounded with the blood moving throughout it. _Everything _pounded.

Watery eyes looked through slit lids at the dirty window that let the cold penetrate his poor excuse for a home. The devilish cold was causing him this pain. That much he was certain of.

Taking a handful of his torn sheets, Alfred tried to haul himself up. What the action resulted in was his arms muscle tendons constricting and brain throbbing against his skull. He grit his teeth together; he sometimes wished he were dead. Not only was he poor and lacking basic needs but he was also diagnosed with a disease unknown to whatever doctor had examined him as a kid. All that was known of it was that it caused extreme reactions to the cold, sensitivity to any pain no matter how minor, and the restraint to get proper nourishment. Alfred used to put it off as pneumonia and said that it would go away, but with time it just got worse and was checked off as "incurable." At those times his mother did everything possible to look out for him and keep him safe from any potential threats to his health, however small or big. She wouldn't let him venture outside without a guardian, wouldn't allow him to eat any unhealthy foods, and defiantly would not leave him alone. Ever. His father would be the assistant to his mother, working to make money so they could afford medical care for Alfred. Those years weren't so bad. But naturally good things had to cease one day.

And that's what happened.

His father died at the age of fourteen. Both he and his mother had been devastated, though his mother never let any of her sorrows show around Alfred. What she did do was take up a job that would provide money for Alfred, and Alfred only, though he didn't know it at the time. She was slowly starving herself for Alfred's sake, but never did she complain about it. Countless times she would hug him and tell him how much she loved him and how she would let him remain safe. He blindly saw it as just that. In retrospect, Alfred should have been smarter.

A little over a year later brought upon the death of his mother. He was only fifteen. He had no idea what to do, where to go. The little money left behind for him vanished within a month. Two weeks of wandering the streets of New York brought him to a store that desperately needed employees. His education hadn't been the best with what he could afford but the owner paid that no mind and gave Alfred the job. Instant relief struck the teen.

The life he had working at the store was fine until he realized it wouldn't hold for much longer - bills were beginning to add up and the taxes only got bigger. It was only recently that he had quit out of desperation and applied for the police service in London. Why there of all places Alfred still did not know.

Alfred went over the depressing memories in his head as he forced the window shut, frail arms shaking as he did. His entire life had been a complete hellhole. Maybe now that he had gotten accepted into something as great as Scotland Yard would his life turn out for the better.

Falling back onto his bed, Alfred grabbed his cover and turned to face the wall, a single tear still shinning in his eye.

* * *

With a bag slung over one shoulder and heavy suitcase in hand, Alfred Jones ran like a tornado was hot on his trail down the busy morning streets of New York. Cyclists and new motor cars swarmed the streets like locusts, the shiny paint glistening in the dawning morning's light. Motor cars had been around for the majority of Alfred's short life but that still did not lessen the fact that cars were but foreign objects to the young man. Engines working to move vehicles around . . . and all of those parts . . . not to mention the wheels. Alfred couldn't help but feel disquisitive; he had never rode in one of the cars before and therefore had no experience with how the inventions functioned - all he did know was that they got you places faster than the speed he was running at now to catch his ship to England.

"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" he cursed, breathing even more heavily afterwards. It wasn't good for his health to run this fast; his doctor had told him not to stress his heart. Ever. Whatever that meant. He'd do as he'd damn well please! He's Alfred F. Jones! You couldn't just expect him to take pain like a little-

_Thump!_

Alfred instantly halted his running to clutch his chest through his porous jacket, face scrunching up in pain as ragged breaths escaped his lips in little gasps whilst he tried to wash away the pain.

So maybe that hadn't of been the best idea he had ever come up with.

And he most defiantly would _not _make it to the docks on time with the predicament he was held up in. Curse this stupid disease! Why couldn't he have been born normally like everyone else that he knew? Another burst of pain shot through his chest and he dropped his suitcase, arm pounding.

He fell to his knees, cradling his throbbing arm to his chest while desperately looking towards where the docks resided. He _needed _to get there.

"Are you alright?"

Tearing his gaze from the location of the docks after hearing the unknown voice, Alfred looked over his shoulder to see another male around his age looking down at him with concern evident in his soft eyes. Which were purple and shielded by glasses similar to his own. As was the face that the spectacles adorned. It was almost like Alfred was seeing his reflection in a mirror, aside from the wavy hair.

Realizing he was staring, Alfred broke eye contact and inspected the ground. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine." That had to have been the most visible lie ever told in history. God, he was horrible at telling fibs.

The other teen must have had enough common sense to see through it, for when Alfred looked back he was met again with the same purple eyes, only this time they were filled with slight annoyance towards the lie alongside the concern. "There's no reason for a lie." The voice was laced with worry, and it only increased as Alfred was pulled into a small coughing fit. "H-hey!" Alfred shook away the irregular breaths and waved the other off with a quick motion of his hand. There was no reason for some random stranger to get involved with his personal problems. That is the last thing he would want.

"Don't act like you're fine. It's obvious that you're not." The stranger spoke rougher now, though the softness still remained. "Let me help you," the other said in a voice that left little room for argument. Alfred obliged and let himself be hauled back onto his feet, warm hands supporting him around his emaciated waist. Though it was a rather selfish thing to think, Alfred was glad this person had been around to help him.

"Where are you headed?"

Alfred watched as the slightly taller teen reached down and picked up his fallen suitcase, getting ready to protest, but hesitated when he was asked a question. "To the docks," he responded, still uneasy about the other having to carry his luggage.

The other resumed his grip around Alfred's waist with suitcase in hand. "Huh, really? That's where I'm going too. I'll help you over."

What a stroke of random luck.

"You too?" Alfred asked, eyebrows furrowed, confusion coating his voice. Another cough escaped past his lips.

Violet eyes darted towards him. "Yeah, I am. Are you alright? That's a nasty cough you've got there." The statement couldn't have been truer. Alfred shrugged, mouth remaining shut. The other didn't press for answers, which Alfred was thankful for. He instead changed the subject.

"What's your name? Mine's Matthew Williams."

Alfred watched skeptically but nothing seemed off about the "Matthew" guy. As a matter of fact, Matthew seemed completely nice and polite. "Alfred . . . Jones. Thanks for helping me."

He saw Matthew's face go pink with embarrassment. "I-it was nothing. You needed help; I gave it. Don't worry about it. I guess it's just a good thing I came when I did - the ship leaves in ten minutes." Matthew's pace picked up speed slightly after he finished speaking, eyes dead-set on the direction of the docks. "Now that I think of it, we should hurry." Alfred did his best to keep time with him but it didn't take long for small bursts of pain to start shooting through his legs. He grit his teeth. He wouldn't let both him _and _Matthew be late just because of some pain.

"Don't strain yourself, Alfred. If you need to slow down tell me, alright?" Matthew noticed beads of sweat on Alfred's pale face with the extra speed.

Alfred shook his head. "I don't want you to be late." Really, he'd rather have himself miss the boat than Matthew.

He heard a low chuckle as an answer. "We'll make it, don't worry."

And yet he still worried, until New York's harbor came into view.

A long dirty harbor is what the place was. It smelled like a living bird got speared through the heart with a stick and put over a fire to roast, guts and all. And the docks weren't much better, with crap Alfred wasn't even certain was crap smeared at random intervals across the sturdy wooden structure. The people flooding the docks didn't even seem remotely bothered by the dirtiness surrounding them.

_Too busy to care I take it, _Alfred wagered, staring at the docks.

The harbor was flanked by dozens of different sized ships and boats, the largest having passengers swarming about it. Alfred didn't need to be told that that ship was their transportation to London. He certainly was glad that he didn't have to buy the ticket, though. Who knew how much that would of costed? More than what he could afford, that's for sure.

The ship - which looked relatively new - was painted a glistening white that shined in the morning sunlight shockingly bright. It just barely bobbed up and down with the passengers boarding it, all of which were of different classes, even though it was more or less made up of the rich. A single individual was shouting orders to the staff that worked aboard the ship. Alfred assumed he was the captain of the vessel since each word said was followed through with without question. The deck seemed to be split into two halves: One side for the upper-class and the other for the middle and lower-class. So much for equality. The only people who had free passes to roam wherever they pleased were the workers, and that made sense since they _did _work on the boat and had orders to follow from their captain. Even the rich had to stay put on their assigned section of the boat. Alfred smirked lightly at the thought that even the rich had to follow some form of rules. Not to mention they were probably complaining to the workers why people of lower classes were allowed to board the same ship as them. Let them complain, Alfred didn't mind in the slightest.

A load groaning sound radiated off from the ship.

"Ah! C'mon Alfred, we need to go!" Matthew noticed the starting ship alongside Alfred and hurried as fast as he could with his arm wrapped around Alfred's waist.

They barely stopped to let the captain check their tickets - which were passed as valid - as they raced up to the ship, albeit a bit awkwardly. What Alfred first noticed was the stench because the boat _stunk. _And not just a little, no, it was a lot. Alfred felt like his nose wanted to shrivel up and die.

"God, do you smell that Matthew?" Alfred said, scrunching up his nose at the repulsive scent.

Matthew made a face similar to Alfred's. "Yeah . . . I do. Couldn't they have cleaned this a bit? With the price of the tickets you'd think they would have a better ship." Alfred agreed despite his ignorance of the ticket prices. He followed as Matthew led him towards the railing of the ship, away from a crowd of wandering civilians, who in turn paid them no mind. Alfred kept his shirt over his noise and instead favored to breathe from his mouth, refusing to take in that revolting scent anymore, unlike Matthew, who simply scrunched his face up slightly and went on.

Alfred leaned against the railing beside Matthew, pulling his shirt back down, blue eyes gazing at the rippling ocean water. It wasn't as blue as he dreamt it to be, but Alfred supposed they just had to be further out for the real effect. Hopefully.

"So, what's your reason for going to England?"

Matthew's question didn't startle Alfred much; he had expected the other to ask eventually. "I'm hoping to become a policeman at Scotland Yard."

Matthew's eyes widened. "You got accepted? Seriously?"

Alfred nodded.

"That's amazing," Matthew smiled sweetly. "I hope you can become one."

Alfred shyly smiled back, showing his thanks through his facial expression. "Is there a reason you're going?"

He watched Matthew ponder over this for a moment, finger on his bottom lip in thought. "I guess you could say because I wanna try something new, but still . . . Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. I want to try living in different places. I came to America from Canada sometime ago, lived here a few years, then decided to do some traveling." Alfred listened to Matthew's reason intently, wondering if they may be able to stay together in the foreign country. Now that Alfred thought about it, he realized he didn't know where he would be living . . . _The police will probably take care of that,_ he assumed silently.

A rough surge went through the boat, shifting its placement in the water. Alfred stumbled backwards. Gripping the railing to maintain his balance, Alfred glanced over at Matthew, who was looking back at him.

"They're departing now, I think . . ." Matthew ceased talking to look over his shoulders, eyes watching the movement of the crewmen he could locate. Each were doing something that looked important enough in both Alfred and Matthew's eyes. "Yes, we should be leaving the docks in a minute or two." Alfred nodded and looked back at the open sea beyond them, wondering what life would be like in England.

"Scared?" The voice of Matthew was something akin to a distant whisper in Alfred's ears.

"A bit."


	2. August 29, 1888

**A/N: **You see why you guys can't trust me now, right? I promise the next chapter will be up soon and it takes _this _long just because I decide to rewrite the second chapter! Seriously, this chapter was SO much more different in the previous version I had written, but then I realized that that version was stupid, so I changed it completely. But Arthur was in both versions, so no matter what you were gonna get Arthur in the end. And if you're all expecting UKUS right away, I will be disappointing you, 'cause I know when it comes in, and unless my story decides to write itself, it ain't coming in for a while now. So sorry about that. Also sorry about the delay; I swear I will never get over that!

To the people who were darling enough to review the last chapter, I thank you so much! It brings me joy to hear that you enjoyed it! And I want to tell you it will get better! I know the beginning was a little slow, but soon the chapters will pick up a pace that'll make you mad for my stupid delays. You guys will end up wanting to kill me for how lazy I am. I apologize for that in advance, too. It's gonna happen. It already did, actually.

You know how some people put quotes before every chapter? Well, I decided I'd try that. So far I've found some really good quotes that relate to this story's personality, and I think I'll go ahead and use them, with credit to the creator, of course. I like each one I've found, and this one used for this chapter relates to Arthur, and I'm wondering if you guys can guess why it does. You may be able to, or not. It doesn't really matter.

Oh! And are you guys excited for Christmas?! I can't help but to ask! I love Christmas SO much! It's my favorite holiday, what with all the gifts and food. I already got a present! It's the entire David Tennant Doctor Who collection! He's my second favorite doctor, right behind Matt Smith. Duh. Also, the next chapter won't be up before Christmas, so this is technically your chapter for the holidays. Merry Christmas!

And I'm sorry to say but expect that every chapter will be late like this. I have to get my grades up because I REFUSE to have anything under a 95% anymore! I sort of want to go to school abroad, but I doubt that'll happen. But if it does . . . England, here I come! To fudge things up! And lecture you guys for using the letter U too much~

I won't hold you guys back from reading any longer so . . . go right ahead. But feel free to talk to me 'cause I LOVE talking to people about useless crap you really don't wanna hear!

* * *

_Modus Operandi_

_Written by Starzzu_

_II_

_August 29, 1888_

* * *

_"We'll rot in these cells we've made_  
_We'll tie up ourselves in chains_  
_Because the reason we're behind these bars_  
_Is because inside we've gone insane"_

_- "The Walls of Depression"; Angel of your Darkness -_

* * *

Two weeks. Two weeks aboard a rocking vessel known as the ___Jewel _in the middle of the Atlantic surrounded by narcissistic aristocrats who continuously bickered over the fact that "the ship smelled like a pig pen", or that "the filthy poor keep interrupting our conversations" and Alfred was just about ready to burst from the aggravation of it all. The constant churning of the steamship only succeeded in unsettling Alfred's stomach and nearly make him convulse on deck, which may or may not have earned him a ticket right into the water below. The nagging of the rich snobs only worsened his overall appeal. Strange as to how one could get so frustrated in a manner of two simple weeks out at sea.

Alfred banged his head against the metal railings.

Who was he kidding? This was pure ___agony _for him. One wealthy woman had lectured him on the proper way to sit at one point during his voyage, and damn the world if he wasn't about to be upset over the entire ordeal. At brief moments during his travel he wondered to himself if coming to London wasn't even worth bearing the pain of the trip. And though it probably was, it didn't mean Alfred had to enjoy it. Thank God for Matthew Williams.

The well-mannered Canadian had been Alfred's only companion throughout their voyage, and he Matthew's. Matthew was Alfred's source of comfort when he got sickened by the ship's heavy rocking; his entertainment when he needed someone to converse with; and, most importantly, his temporary brother. Alfred had never gotten particularly close to anyone after his parents died, and instead decided to seclude himself from people as much as possible, but it seemed that Matthew had earned a place in his heart as something akin to a brother, albeit a fake on. They had bonded over childish games and over what they were to do once they reached London. Though Alfred would never admit it straight-forward, he was dreading the day for when they would have to part. Unbeknownst to him, Matthew harbored the same feelings.

One day a conversation emerged on where they would each live. Alfred sat in silence, gazing sadly at Matthew, who turned to him with the brightest grin Alfred hadn't had the privilege to see in ages. He proposed, the giddiness in his voice apparent, that they should rent out an apartment together. The rest of the trip went by noticeably better, but that had yet to change the fact that Alfred was ___bored out of his mind._

Dull blue eyes watched the ocean pass slowly by, not a flicker of life accompanying them aside from the occasional twitch of his lids. The ship sailed on, ignorant of his inner torture. Matthew had went off who-knows-where to do who-knows-what with who-knows-who sometime ago, leaving Alfred to himself, all alone, on a huge ship full of nagging passengers who wouldn't shut their mouths.

The soft pounding of feet on the metal deck behind him reached his ears. "Alfred," Matthew's quiet voice followed along with it.

Alfred didn't turn his head as he responded with a small "hmm."

He could almost hear the Canadian roll his eyes. "Well, if you'd look up, then you'd know." There was laughter coated over Matthew's words and Alfred, ever the curious one, lifted his head from the rough surface of the railing and to the open sea ahead of them - or at least, that's what he was expecting to see. What he did see, however, was an immensely large chunk of land that took up every part of space as far as the eye could see.

"Whoa," Suddenly, Alfred couldn't speak English anymore. Perhaps he would get Matthew to teach him French later.

Matthew smiled beside him. "'Whoa' is right."

The God forsaken journey of crossing the Atlantic had ___finally _produced the one thing Alfred had been intolerant for: reaching England. Whatever had prowled around in the back of his mind for the past weeks all at once vanished to be replaced with pure awe. The sight before his eyes was absolutely breath-taking.

A brilliant harbor accessorized by steamship to dingy little fishing boats met with their ship, a small surge forward commencing at the association. Stone buildings surrounded the harbor, all types of people by the dozen flooding into the buildings or onto the docked ships, shouting things Alfred couldn't make out from where he resided. Carriages hauled by strong stallions weaved their way in and out of the harbor's traffic; automobiles were streamed along the carriages and dotted the edges of the stone structures, majorities honking in frustration at civilians who walked one second too slow. Steam drifted from openings in the larger buildings and ships, fogging up the already gray sky more than need be, though the citizens paid it no more than a flash of their eyes. Not a soul at the docks looked to have an ounce of free time to spare - the commotion looked to be worse than at the docks of New York. Still, it amazed Alfred that he was no longer in America, but in England, miles and miles away from his birth country.

Alfred met Matthew's eyes, sharing the same thought with his friend - ___wow. _It wasn't so much what the overall look of England was, but the fact that they had actually made it to the foreign country.

Yells were carried out on deck and it wasn't long until the passengers that had been bugging Alfred during the trip began pushing and shoving each other to get off the ship. Alfred and Matthew, smartly, waited for the others to exit before doing so themselves. Both stood at one corner of the harbor, a map of Matthew's in hand.

"So," Alfred began, looking around the crowded harbor. "where are we, and how far away is London?"

He watched Matthew scrunch his violet eyes at the map, no doubt confused over their location just as much as Alfred was. "According to this map and what the captain of the ship said, we're at the Southampton docks just 75 miles outside of London. With proper transportation the trip to London shouldn't take much time out of the day," Matthew paused to look at his watch. "It's only just past eight - I set the time a little before we arrived - which gives us awhile to find a place and for you to find Scotland Yard." Folding the map and shoving it back into his bag Matthew went to find an available carriage while Alfred searched through his own bag for the map of London that had accompanied his acceptance letter; he knew they'd need it later on.

Alfred found Scotland Yard almost immediately, not at all considering the fact that there was a circle outlining it.

He studied the map for a minute, trying to engrave the location into his brain. It didn't look that hard to find, but Alfred did end up lost in New York a few times in his life and wasn't ready to take any chances in London. How embarrassing would that be?

Pushing back a lock of hair from his eyes, Alfred blinked, a crease forming over his brow. If they were 75 miles from London how much time would elapse from the day before whatever transportation Matthew found arrived in the city? Alfred hoped not too long - what Matthew said had seemed legit enough, but that was just an assumption.

"Alfred! Over here!" Tearing his eyes from the map Alfred saw Matthew standing next to a black carriage connected to two dirty white stallions, waving at him frantically. Grabbing his luggage Alfred ran over, climbing in the carriage after Matthew.

"Where to, boys?" The cab driver spoke, giving a flick of the reins, instantaneously starting the horses into a steady trot. His voice was laced heavily with either Irish or Scottish and sounded as if he had been drinking.

Alfred stayed quiet as Matthew answered "London" for them. A single nod followed a low chuckle.

"You boys travel all the way over here for London, huh? Well, that's what most people come here for. You two from America, correct?"

"Yeah," Alfred answered this time, smiling at the joyous attitude of the driver. "We both wanted to try for something new and ended up going all the way to London."

The cab driver laughed again. "Wanting to try different places is good, ya know. People these days seem to have no time, what with all their hustling and bustling about over how to get money. They should all learn how to take a break and relax and not stress over life for a day or two. Spend some time with their families and stuff like that. Not make every day hellish," he finished, flicking the reins once again.

"From Southampton to London is quite a trip so I suggest the two of you get comfortable back there," the cab driver added, turning his attention back to the road ahead.

Alfred nodded slightly, letting his gaze drift to the outside of the carriage, where the streets were packed tightly with traffic. The cab driver was right - it was going to take a while for them to reach the city.

.

True to the cab driver's heavily accented words, the trip to London took a good amount of time out of Alfred and Matthew's morning. By the time great stone buildings much more admirable than the ones at the harbor appeared out of the corner of Alfred's blue eyes he couldn't suppress the audible breath of relief from deserting the inside of his mouth. The ride had been so long and boring it almost one-up'd the ride on the ___Jewel. _He wasn't sure why he and Matthew hadn't talked the time away considering that was the solution to the everlasting boredom they were put up against.

Alfred thought a gasp similar to his own escaped Matthew's own lips, but his brain only absorbed the brilliant city outside the carriage. For apparent reasons, the city, what with all of its citizens hustling up and down the streets in such a hurried manner, reminded Alfred shockingly of New York; he had never imagined another city in the entire world that could hold as many people as New York did, or have as much traffic clogging up the busy streets. Apparently the exception was, low and behold, London.

The carriage jerked forward, coming to a rough halt next to one of the less-busy buildings. Alfred gripped the cushion gracing the seat beneath him to steady himself from the bumpy stop. "Here's where you depart," Alfred clambered out from the cab, relishing in the fact that he could breathe fresh air and not the hot stench of the carriage anymore.

Matthew paid the man and climbed out after Alfred, waving a farewell as the carriage driver took off down the busy streets.

Digging around in his bag, Alfred pulled out his map of London and, handing it to Matthew, pointed out the circled location. "I guess I'll head there; where are you gonna go?"

Matthew took the map from Alfred's hands, pushing up his glasses and examining it. "How about I find us a place to stay at? We can't just live on the streets like some bums."

"Yeah, that wouldn't be too great." Alfred agreed, a light laugh in his voice.

Matthew smiled back then settled his gaze back on the map. "So, Alfred, where do you want to meet up at after we're done with our 'missions'." Alfred snorted, Matthew following along, not caring of the stupidity of it.

Alfred stifled the laughter in his throat and checked the map, eyes going over each labeled place. "Want to go some place where we can have dinner afterwards? No doubt we'll both be starving by the end of the day," Alfred suggested, a shrug following his question in a manner that told he didn't care either way.

"Sounds doable."

Resting his index finger next to a restaurant Alfred looked over at Matthew. "Here?" Matthew tilted his head, looking down. "It's on the map, so it must be worthy of something, huh?" A nod from Matthew was his only answer.

Folding the map back up Alfred stuffed it back into his bag. "Then it's settled; let's meet there at seven-ish. You fine with that?"

Matthew rolled his shoulders and gathered his things. "Yes. That ___does _give us a good amount of time to do whatever we need. Now," Matthew turned in the opposite direction of Alfred, a hand up and a kind smile given at Alfred. "Alfred, good luck with the police. Please try to make a good first impression because we ___do _need to have money to live on." It was said jokingly, but Alfred knew Matthew was serious about looking good around the police.

"Don't fuss so much, ___mom__,_" Alfred watched with amusement as Matthew scowled. "I should be done in no time anyways. See ya later, and make sure you find us a decent place to live Mattie - I don't favor staying in a complete dump while in London."

"Whatever,"

___And with that word spoken, the two went off in yet _another ___venture, this time in search of separate things._

Alfred narrated the scene in his mind over and over as he walked the streets of London with nothing but aching feet and a throbbing shoulder for company. There was nothing better to do, and, frankly, Alfred was pissed like never before; apparently walking around for over an hour without barely taking a look at the map was not the greatest idea ever created, and it took that long of a time for Alfred to realize that shocking thought. Whatever the reason was, it didn't matter to the blonde, not when he just wanted to ___sit the hell down and rest._

Absentmindedly tugging at the collar of his shirt, Alfred watched the traffic go by, pondering what the chances were of somebody nearby knowing where Scotland Yard was located. He most certainly was not lost, just misplaced and in need of directions since his map wasn't agreeing with his brain and the lines seemed to morph into squiggles each time he dared glance at it.

Minutes passed with him simply standing there like a complete imbecile.

Scowling at his own idiocy Alfred began walking again, this time taking his chances down a deserted alleyway after figuring that nothing else would offer him a greater stroke of luck.

Wandering down the alley indecisively proved to only provoke the doubting thoughts lurking in the corners of Alfred's mind.

___What if they don't think I'm cut out for the job? _Alfred frowned. ___Well of course they think I'll be good for the job. Why else would they have even accepted me? But that doesn't necessarily mean they'll like ____me! What if they think I'm annoying or stupid or weak or- _Instead of continuing with the cons of getting approved Alfred let himself bite his nails in a distracting manner, hoping whatever things he had previously thought were just a hoax his overactive imagination created. But still, doubts pricked his mind like needles piercing thin skin, and a cold feeling leaked in like the ejected liquid alongside the needle. There would be nothing keeping the policemen there from changing their minds about him, and Alfred really could do nothing on the matter; all he _could _do was hope, and usually that never worked out too well.

Alfred glared at the dirty ground, partly angered at himself. The last thing he needed was to jinx himself before getting to meet his commanding officer.

London cold hit him once more after exiting the alleyway, but he hardly paid it any mind. What he _did _give attention to was the ginormous building just across the street. The building practically shouted that it was what he had been looking for, if it wasn't obvious enough for the teenager.

"Oh my . . . God. That's-" Alfred didn't finish. He clamped his mouth shut, gripped his bag, and strode forward, a clear determination shining in his eyes.

What must have been the back of the building had a huge metal gate surrounding the perimeter of the yard, only a section of it was open, though not entirely inviting, but more intimidating. Swallowing Alfred walked there. As he got closer he could see the figures of two policemen guarding the gate, one looking to be in conversation with the other, who remained unresponsive. Alfred snickered lightly, not daring to let them hear, but doing it nonetheless because of how funny the scene was. It looked as if the more slim one was ranting about something and the bulkier one was just growing annoyed at the blonde's attempt to talk.

Alfred finally picked up the blonde's voice and, for whatever reason, it had a thick French accent lacing it.

Not that French people were weird to Alfred, but he had yet to hear a person speak in a British accent since he had arrived in England, and no matter who you are that would be pretty strange.

"-and then 'e gave me a double shift! Who does that? And right after I complete that 'orrible assignment, too! Mon Dieu, if I wasn't getting such good pay I'd give him a piece of my mind right in his pretty little face! Tell me you think it's wrong, no? I swear when this is over Ar-" the French voice got cut off by a heavy, bland German voice coming from the other.

"It is not up to you to decide what happens in our faction. He is the leader and therefore had authority over me and you. Besides, we have company."

Alfred froze as a hand was directed towards him, blue eyes looking him over impassively.

"What is your business here?" the German voiced harshly, not letting his gaze slip for a moment. Alfred just blinked and shrunk back a little. The other didn't need to speak to him like he was a major criminal or something with the way he looked: skinny and small and pale – that had to have "Not a Threat" written all over it. These kind of things were probably different with policemen.

Feeling the cold stare on his body Alfred kept his gaze directed downwards, not wanting to meet the German in the eye.

Hearing a scoff, Alfred briefly looked up to see the Frenchman roll his eyes and toss his hair back. "Come now Ludwig, have you no manners? He certainly doesn't _look _like he could cause any harm," at this Alfred could feel the Frenchman's eyes on him. "and even if who would come up to two officers like this? Think before speaking in such a crude way next time, won't you? Now," this time the blonde took a few steps forward to stand right in front of Alfred, a warm smile plastering his perfectly framed face. "how can we be of assistance to a youth as lovely as yourself?"

Alfred's cheeks warmed and mouth dry. Whoever this man was, he was classified as "weird" in Alfred's book, and that was just for now.

Noticing the tall man was still awaiting an answer Alfred swallowed and made eye-contact. "My name is Alfred Jones and I'm here because I sent in an apprenticeship letter that was received and accepted. May I please speak with your commending officer?" The last sentence broke off a little oddly and Alfred was left in complete astonishment. Where had _that _come from? He certainly hadn't been planing on saying anything that bold in front of the two policemen, who, at the moment, were regarding him with wide eyes.

"You're Alfred?" For the first time the Frenchman's voice wasn't upbeat or joyful, but appalled and disbelieving.

Alfred couldn't meet the others' eyes once more and mutely nodded his head. He heard a clap and a laugh but still did not look up, not until he felt a hand touch his back. The Frenchman had moved to stand beside him and was looking at him warmly, a Cheshire smile adorning his lips.

"How positively merveilleux!" Alfred blinked as the other pulled him close, an arm over his shoulders. "You 'ave no idea 'ow long we've been awaiting your arrival, mon cher Alfred. All of use that work under this faction know about you and how your predicament is overall unheard of! Do you 'ave any idea how lucky you are to 'ave gotten in?" The blonde man's blue eyes twinkled joyously as he spoke, the smile never leaving his face.

Feeling self-conscious as the man's arm wound its way around his shoulders Alfred lent away, sagging his shoulders.

The German man stepped up to them, pulling the other officer away by the arm roughly. Blue eyes narrowed as they looked towards Alfred. "I _think _he would like if you stay out of his personal space, Francis."

The Frenchman – now labeled as Francis – sighed dramatically, putting a hand to his forehead in mock hurt. "Oh, Ludwig, how your words hurt me so."

Ludwig made no remark to Francis's over-dramatic sigh aside from a slightly louder breath escaping his mouth. He turned back to Alfred after detaching Francis from Alfred's arm. "You," Alfred had to keep his willpower on high to not turn away from the look given to him. "follow us."

Not really wanting to get on the man's bad side Alfred did as told without protest. It was clear this man was a no-nonsense type and wouldn't mind exerting force on him if need be, and Alfred really did not want that to be needed. He wasn't exactly scared, but he felt obliged to stay close to the man's good side, if he wasn't somehow already one the bad one.

They headed across the grass expanse of Scotland Yard's backyard silently, aside from Francis, who babbled away unessentially about how "Ludwig gripped his arm too tight" or that he "needed to get the stick out of his ass". If Alfred weren't so intimidated by Ludwig he'd laugh.

Alfred felt a pull in the pit of his stomach as he watched Ludwig knock and open a door marked with a star on it along a small row of doors against a side building. He knew, beyond that door, was his chance at becoming what he had dreamt of for so long, and he also knew there was a man on the other side of that door that held his chance in the palm on his hands. Alfred _had _to be careful and smart with the commander of this faction, and from how Ludwig was he had to wonder how much worse the head officer here was. The thought was mildly frightening.

A creak signaled that the door was open. Alfred, head down, let himself be guided inside by Francis, with Ludwig in the lead.

"Sorry to interrupt your work, sir, but the one who sent in the letter from America a couple of weeks ago has finally arrived and we felt that you would like to see him immediately," Ludwig said in a slightly uneasy voice, eyes set on the figure at the desk, caution lining them.

Said figure was currently hunched over the desk, writing on a blank piece of parchment with a pristine quill, head down and attention seemingly completely on the task at hand, not even giving them a glance of acknowledgment.

Alfred stood there awkwardly behind Ludwig, taking in little glances of the room surrounding him.

The room looked like something out of a book, possibly _Sherlock Holmes _by the overall appearance it held. The walls were pained in a soft brown color that gave it a dark presence, and the majority of the floor was covered in an expensive-looking Persian rug that displayed more designs than Alfred could see. Bookshelves filled to the brim with books and papers alike aligned almost every space available on the walls. Two chairs, a love seat, and an oaken desk that the head officer worked at were the only furniture items decorating the room. The place, surprisingly, looked very homey to Alfred, and he couldn't help but feel slightly more relaxed than he was outside talking with the two officers earlier. There was even a fireplace adorning one wall! Alfred thought that he may just like it here if not for the unnerving quietness.

"Sir?" Ludwig said again, uncertainty lacing his voice.

Alfred tried not to flinch when the writing abruptly came to a halt, the quill being discarded on the desk's surface and a head of messy blonde hair rising from its position over the desk. Piercing eyes looked from Ludwig to him and back, lips pulled down in a bored expression.

"I can see that now," The head officer spoke with a heavily British accent, the first Alfred had heard since arriving. Dark green eyes looked to him in an observing fashion, like they were judging him silently. Not five seconds later they were back on Ludwig, hard and stern, just as his voice was, "Ludwig, Francis, you are dismissed. I would like to have time alone with the new lad." They obviously didn't need to be told twice, for Francis was already out the door with Ludwig following.

The door shut and the other man stood and walked out from behind his desk and to the front of it, leaning back against it as his eyes looked Alfred over in mild curiosity and mild jadedness. He pushed a hand through his disheveled hair. When he took it away there was an affable smirk on his face in place of the impassive frown, green eyes now appearing brighter and nicer.

"Jones, was it?" The man didn't wait for Alfred to answer before going on, his tone more light. "My name is Arthur Kirkland, the head officer of my faction, and one of the most important officers here at Scotland Yard. It's great to finally make your acquaintance."

Alfred, already confused by the bipolarity actions of the officer, was even more confused and outright shocked when Arthur took his hand, bent down, and put his lips to it. Alfred's instinct was to pull his hand away and jump back, but he just stood there and dumbly stared at the taller officer with wide blue eyes.

Arthur rose back up, eyes trained on Alfred's. "I apologize for anything the other two officers did that may have displeased you. They can be rather . . . _odd _at times." Alfred watched Arthur shrug and almost got the urge to laugh. "Aside from that, how are you feeling about London?"

"Nothing, really. I haven't been here all that long. This is the only place I've visited since arriving, but from what I saw it isn't all _that _different from New York. Not like if I were to go to China." Alfred told Arthur lightly, thinking it was okay to talk casually around the head officer from how the other had acted around him.

He stayed silent as the other man smiled back at him. "That's good. It would be a total shame for you to get homesick on the first day, now wouldn't it?" Arthur laughed and sat back on his desk. "You're welcome to sit, Alfred. Don't think you have to act so stiffly around me just because of my position."

Arthur's tone was reassuring and somehow Alfred felt comfortable around him, despite barely knowing him. Alfred nodded and, keeping his gaze on his fingers, walked over to the couch. He watched as Arthur smiled at him. "After hours of travel I'm sure you're relieved to take a break and rest your legs. Can I offer you a drink?" Alfred shook his head no and Arthur simply shrugged. "Suit yourself. Now, how about we get down to the reason you came here?" Alfred tensed when he heard that. Arthur must have seen by the way he continued on, "Don't think anything's wrong. I personally wrote the letter you received because I _wanted _you here."

Alfred was at a loss of what to say. Did the head of this faction say _he _wanted him here? That _he _wrote the letter himself? Where would one of the most important officers find the time to personally write a letter just for someone like him? Mouth open like an idiot, Alfred found that he didn't have anything to respond back with. Arthur only seemed to be amused by his lack of words. After a minute of dumb silence Alfred found his voice again.

"W-why?" he said, that seeming to be the only word he was able to form.

The Briton regarded him for a moment with a look of interest, then answered, "I assume you have heard of the two murders that happened sometime ago?" Alfred nodded. "When it comes to murders, Alfred, you must understand that any assistance offered is precious, and things here at Scotland Yard have been getting . . . bad. Some officers have dropped out of the force for no apparent reason, and we're losing our strength by these arbitrary resignations. Do you see why I sent that letter now? Because if not Alfred, by all means leave." Arthur's eyes had grown dark and face emotionless while explaining their situation to Alfred, who couldn't help to look away from the morbid look Arthur was giving him.

It was hard to imagine some of the best officers quitting the best police force in London. Truthfully, Alfred was shocked. He now saw just how desperate the men were to have someone help them with their duties. From what he could tell, the officers had left because of the previous murders. Had they really been that bad that people would have quit? It didn't seem right to Alfred, but he hadn't seen them, so what would he know?

"I'm . . . sorry. I didn't know how bad your situation was." Alfred apologized, feeling guilty for seeming so dense.

Arthur's face seemed to soften after Alfred spoke. "I know that the news comes as a bit of a shock, Alfred, but now you know how bad things are becoming. Are you still up for it?" For the first time Arthur looked worried as he spoke, a hint of wariness showing in his green eyes.

"Yes, I am. A few deaths won't scare me away," Alfred stated proudly.

Another smile lit up Arthur's face. "That's wonderful. We could use someone young like you in our faction."

Alfred's eyes widened. Arthur's words weren't just said because they needed help, but they were said like he could actually be used on the team. Alfred could tell Arthur wasn't an idiot and knew Alfred had to be weak from his appearance, and yet he blatantly ignored that fact to instead look at the positive side of Alfred joining them. Why he did not know, but Alfred felt his stomach grow light from the unnecessary politeness Arthur gave him.

"Are you alright?" Arthur's voice made Alfred snap back to reality, face heating from embarrassment.

"Um, yes, fine." Alfred awkwardly shifted on the couch, hands tightening into fists as his eyes studied the carpet beneath him.

He heard Arthur get up and walk back behind his desk, a few papers shuffling as he did. "I suppose there is no reason to keep you here any longer, Alfred. You are free to go," Arthur sat and, looking towards Alfred, folded his hands. "You'll start here tomorrow at eight. Please be here on time."

Alfred had gotten up and was at the door that he had entered through, turning back to Arthur when he told Alfred of what he was to do.

"I'll show you around the building tomorrow. For now, I wish you a safe trip home." Arthur dismissed him without another word. Alfred said nothing as he exited Arthur's office and quietly walked back into the city, knuckles turning white from his grip on the luggage. He wasn't sure why, but he felt extremely uneasy, almost like he was going to puke. He hoped he wasn't getting sick already. The one thing he did _not _need was to come sick into the building on his first day.

The sky was dark by the time Alfred found Matthew standing near a street corner, looking confused and tired.

"Matthew!" Alfred shouted, running over after a carriage passed. He imagined he didn't look much better than Matthew did, and he probably felt even worse. "Matthew! God, I'm glad I found you!"

Matthew greeted Alfred with a wave of his hand. "I've been hanging around this part of London for about half an hour after finding out where Scotland Yard was and was beginning to worry that you already left."

"Well, here I am, so I don't think I did," Alfred grinned at the annoyed look Matthew gave him. "Guess going to that restaurant is out, huh?" It was way past their scheduled meeting time and they were pretty lost. Matthew nodded.

"Anyways, how did your meeting with the police go?" Matthew asked Alfred as they walked the dark streets of London, back to the place Matthew had found for them.

Alfred shrugged, not all too sure about it himself. "I think it went okay. The officer in charge of my faction said he would personally teach me and he seems nice enough. I met two other officers who were . . . interesting. It's kinda weird 'cause Arthur Kirkland - the head officer - said that people were leaving Scotland Yard for no real reason, and that's why I was accepted there."

Matthew gave him a confused look. "That is weird. I wonder why people would do that?"

"I have no idea, and neither does Arthur, really. I thought that maybe it was because of the two murders, but they're police officers, so why would they quit over that? It makes no sense." Matthew agreed as they rounded a corner and came into the presence of a small apartment building. It was partly rundown and the stone was practically cracked, but Matthew told Alfred that this was the only place he could find for a cheap price.

Matthew led him up to the second floor and Alfred entered their room to find the walls chipping and the flooring uneven. Alfred frowned at the small space but was relieved to see that the room at least had two separate beds and the smallest of all kitchen areas. Alfred set his stuff down on his bed and, sorting through his junk, turned to Matthew.

"Hey, what're you gonna do tomorrow? I have to be at the station at eight so . . ."

Matthew looked up from his place on the bed, idly pulling at a strand of his wavy hair. "Guess I could go get some food. We'll need it if we're living here."

Alfred shut the drawer he had put his clothes in and flopped onto his bed, kicking his shoes off as Matthew blew out the candle that served as the only light in the room.

"Better get sleep if I wanna be on time tomorrow," Alfred said casually, setting his glasses on the table next to his bed.

"Don't worry about waking up on time, Alfred. I should be up so I'll wake you." Alfred heard Matthew mutter the sentence into his pillow just barely and smiled to himself.

"Thanks. And goodnight, finally."

Pulling the covers up Alfred stared out the window on the wall in front of him until his eyelids couldn't stay open any longer. His last thoughts were of Scotland Yard and of Arthur Kirkland, with those brilliant emerald eyes watching him intently, amusement hidden in them, and smirk playing on his lips.

A cold wind blew in through the window, making Alfred shudder in his sleep.


	3. August 30, 1888

**A/N:** This . . . chapter . . . is . . . beyond . . . late. Of all the lateness ever done, THIS RIGHT HERE is late. Like I knew it was gonna be late, but this is freakin' ridiculous! How did I manage this? My God! I apologize to anyone who did not enjoy this lateness. I truly am sorry. BUT BEFORE YOU READ, how many of you guys are Whovians? Any Doctor Who fans out there? Reading this? If so, contact this Whovian here! I'm thinking about writing a Doctor Who story but I'm kind of short on ideas for the whole thing - all I know is that both Ten and Eleven would be there. And that they would meet and be all Doctor-y together.

I'm guessing you guys realize now that this fiction won't be updated fast at all, so be patient please. Now, if you all will let me, here are my feels I must get out:

SHERLOCK SEASON 3 is FILMING TODAY! DOCTOR WHO SEASON 7.2 comes out MARCH 30th! Oz the Great and Powerful was so AMAZING! I got both Wreck-It Ralph and The Lorax on DVD! Seeing Sherlock jump off that building was absolutely HORRIBLE! Amy and Rory are GONE! I could cry because of how amazing Amy was. She will be missed. Thank you all for listening to my rambling.

Now, since I put this chapter off for a while, I included a special moment at the end to apologize for my horribleness, though it is small. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

_Modus Operandi_

_Written by Starzzu_

_II__I_

_August 30, 1888_

* * *

_"Why speak_  
_When words become weak_  
_And everything you want is in the darkness_  
_And you are forever alone"_

_- "Ashes to Ashes"; Leila -_

* * *

The next day came much too fast for Alfred's liking. Sleep had scarcely come his way after he went to bed, and even with the moments that he did manage to slip into unconsciousness he would suddenly be pulled back like a fish on a wire. He couldn't tell whether it was his insomnia acting up or just because he was worried over what his first day at Scotland Yard would bring, but the sleepless night hadn't been pleasant. Countless scares had come and gone within the times he had awoken and each one only seemed to stretch his worries even further than they were to begin with; they brought hundreds of depressing thoughts that all revolved around the metropolitan officers not accepting his presence at the station.

Despite Arthur having said he was in, Alfred couldn't fathom a reason as to why they would want to keep him around for too long. He was much too weak and sick to be of much real use to the others, and, above all other things, his body could never be compared to one of a real man's: where their chests were firm his was slight; where they had muscles and abs on their stomachs he had nothing but the indent proving he rarely held down a meal properly; where their arms were sturdy his were little, nearly clinging to his bones. Alfred saw nothing about him that could, in any way, be found as an attractive trait. Too blue eyes, too blonde hair, too poor eyesight, too pale skin . . . too many things to name. It was hardly fair that he was cursed with such a horrible life, one he didn't even enjoy.

There were times – times that Alfred didn't like to think back on – when he wondered if going on was even worth the pain. More than not it wasn't, but he had never been brave enough to do what he sometimes wished would just simply happen.

"Alfred, if you don't get up soon you'll end up being late on your first day."

But then there were the times where living _was, _indeed, worth it.

Alfred looked over from his position on the bed to Matthew, who stood in their small kitchenette cleaning off his glasses, his ever-present smile on his lips.

Rolling over, Alfred tossed back his blanket and got up from his warm sanctuary.

Matthew gave him a quick glance as he placed his glasses back on. "If you hurry we can go have something quick for breakfast at this little café I saw while walking around yesterday," he stated casually, grabbing his jacket.

Alfred stayed quiet as he slipped his dirty shirt off in exchange for a new one, though just as tattered. Breakfast sounded great considering he hadn't gotten a chance to eat much of anything last night, and if Matthew was fine with going some place then it was fine with Alfred. And perhaps food would calm his nerves, if only slightly. Anything was worth it to make sure he didn't screw up his new "job."

Following Matthew out of their apartment and to the main street Alfred informed Matthew he didn't have a great amount of money to spend. Matthew only told Alfred he'd handle it. Before Alfred could argue Matthew simply said if he felt so obliged to pay for whatever he got then he could pay him back later when he had enough money. Alfred didn't say anything against that as they walked the rest of the way to the café.

The place was a charming little building at the corner of a street not two blocks away from Scotland Yard. It was a warming brown color with darker tints outlining the edges around the door and windows. Above the door, etched into the wood, were faded letters, probably spelling out the name of the café, but they were beyond easy recognition now. A sweet smell of pastries wafted out the door as someone left the café, passing by Alfred and Matthew without a glance. The person was a relatively tall and broad man, the latter being guessed by the enormous coat adorning his body, and by the way he held himself as he walked by. It was a rather intimidating stance, but Alfred paid him no real mind as he entered the café after Matthew, stomach nearly whining at how empty he felt.

If the scent of the café was strong outside then it was absolutely overwhelming inside. A long counter was placed in the back and occupying almost every available space were treats being showed off for display, nearly making Alfred's mouth water. Confection after confection lined the wood, ranging from cakes to tarts, and all being completely irresistible. Alfred figured that if he were rich _this _would be what he spent his money on.

Standing behind the counter was a brown-haired man picking idly at his finger nails, seeming more interested in them than anyone at the door. He lifted his eyes when they approached the counter, his stare dark and bored.

"Can I help you?" he said more than asked, frown still in place as he looked them over with judging brown eyes.

Matthew saved Alfred from suffering through talking to the other man by ordering tea and cake for both of him and, even if Alfred would never say so aloud, he was quite thankful for it - truthfully, the other really didn't seem up for any kind of talk, whether it depended on his job or not.

The worker left into a small back room as Alfred walked over to a secluded table in the corner and sat down, twisting his fingers worriedly as he waited for Matthew to come over with the food. He wasn't sure what he'd be expected to do at the station considering he wasn't much more than an apprentice, but since one of the head officers decided to take him under his wing it was probably going to be important; he would actually have to be counted on for something! For once in his life he would be _needed. _The prospect excited him and yet troubled him. If he messed up on something the other officers would obviously be angered, but if he did everything correctly that meant he would be welcomed like a normal person and not some screw up like he already was. All of these were chances he had to take, and only with time would come the result.

Alfred glanced up when his drink and cake were set in front of him, the delicacies brightening his mood. Matthew sat opposite, downing his tea with large gulps as Alfred picked at the cake, living in the glory that was all things sweet.

They exchanged no words as they ate; Alfred too preoccupied with his thoughts and Matthew just being casually silent. Before Alfred knew it his cake and tea were both gone, only crumbs littering the plate. He leaned back slightly, his stomach finally relaxed along with his mind.

The young brown-haired man, whose name Alfred was told was Lovino, hurriedly collected their dishes, mumbling a quick "have a nice day" to them as he once again left for the back room, leaving them alone in the café.

Matthew sighed as they walked out the door and down the street. "It was a good place, if not rather poor on service."

Alfred snickered, not usually ever hearing Matthew complain. "You're spot on with that one."

They shared a quick laugh as the duo approached Scotland Yard. Alfred stopped awkwardly in front of the way he came in yesterday, looking to see if either Francis or Ludwig were out. It didn't look like it.

"I'll see you back at the apartment later?" Matthew's voice had a questioning tone to it, like he wasn't sure if Alfred would come back. Alfred only smiled and nodded, giving Matthew a quick hug before turning around and going through the yard, watching out of the corner of his eye as Matthew disappeared from view.

Alfred knocked lightly on the wooden door he entered yesterday, stepping back some as he waited for a response. The words "come in" greeted him and, with a brief moment of hesitation, Alfred opened the door, stepping into the beautifully furnished office.

Similar to the first time he entered Arthur was bent over his desk, writing something down on a piece of paper, not even acknowledging Alfred's presence.

Alfred felt like yesterday had never happened and was suddenly overwhelmed with the sudden urge to back out of the room and run back to his apartment in New York. Why wasn't Arthur saying anything to him? Did he change his mind already after seeing how scrawny Alfred looked? The doubts resurfaced so forcefully Alfred felt as if he might pass out. He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. Looking up he saw Arthur standing in front of him, eyebrows furrowed.

"Alfred, are you alright?" he asked, clear concern coating his words. Alfred quickly said yes, shaking off the doubts.

_My God Alfred, he was only writing. Why can't you be normal for once and not act like a complete fool? _

"Yes, I'm fine," Alfred repeated his words when Arthur didn't move right away. Shrugging, Arthur walked back over to his desk, grabbed a bundle of papers he had banded together, and signaled Alfred over with a jerk of his head. Alfred stood next to the desk as Arthur sorted through the papers, nodded to himself, and gave them to Alfred.

"I told you yesterday I would give you a brief overview of the building, correct?" Alfred nodded. "I won't go back on that, of course, but along with the tour I also want you to complete a little task of delivering these papers to another head officer who works under my faction. He usually takes things to the main files section," Arthur informed Alfred as he walked over to the other door, waiting for Alfred to follow. "I'll be sure to introduce you to every officer I can. Do try to memorize their names; it's always better than not knowing them." Alfred followed Arthur out into a corridor lined with doors on each side, stretching from one end to the other. Alfred looked back at Arthur's door, making a mentle note on where it was located.

"Try to memorize this place so you don't stumble into someone else's room by accident, if you can," Arthur said casually as if reading Alfred's mind. He blinked. He hoped he didn't ever do that.

Guiding Alfred down to the end of the hall Arthur came to a halt in front of a huge oak door, twice the size of all the other doors in the corridor. "This, Alfred, is the entrance to the main room, which holds the reception desk, main entrance, and everything else a main office room would commonly hold." Pushing the door open Alfred was met with the sight of a glorious room with elegant, palace-like designs. Officers occupied the room, conversing among themselves casually. Near a fireplace was Francis, eyes widening as he noticed Alfred, a bright smile forming on his lips. Alfred felt a nice little bubble of happiness course through him at the sight of the French officer, and it only expanded as Francis made his way towards them.

"Alfred! It's so good to see you 'ere again! I feared you may 'ave left after what a creep Arthur must 'ave been towards you." Francis glared at Arthur, a scolding sound escaping his lips. Arthur fumed.

"I didn't do anything! Unlike you're perverted arse. Who knows what you would have done?" Arthur shot back, a smirk of pleasure forming at Francis's offended expression.

"You think I would 'ave done anything to our dear Alfred? Surely you are mistaken, Arthur. My hands are pure as falling snow, whereas yours are about as pure as gasoline, what with that 'orrible smell it gives."

Alfred watched them exchange petty comments about each other with amusement, only just now realizing how bad of a relationship they shared. He waited until the argument finally died down after Arthur ordered Francis to go "immerse himself with the other officers because he had business to attend to." Francis smirked suggestively at this as he walked away, earning one last breath of frustration from Arthur.

A second later Arthur gave an apologetic look to Alfred. "I'm sorry you had you witness that . . . exchange. It's just that Francis is terribly annoying most of the time and I really cannot stand his bloody presence in the room. Anyways, back to the tour," Before Arthur could do anything Alfred asked exactly who Francis was, which Arthur really didn't seem to want to answer, but did nonetheless. "He's one of my top officers, actually. Francis Bonnefoy came here some years back straight from Paris, complaining about how cold the weather was and how much he should be on the police force. I still can't quite believe he was even accepted, considering that he was a highly skilled baker before coming here, not to mention that revolting French accent he can't seem to be rid of," Arthur shrugged. "Still, he is a great officer."

"What about Ludwig?" Alfred remembered the German officer who he first met along with Francis yesterday, the one who seemed the complete opposite of Francis.

Arthur gave him a curious look before starting up about Ludwig. "Ludwig Beilschmidt is one of the best officers in all of England, actually. He's been on the force for years, even longer than I. I know he came here from Germany in his late teens, with no interest at all in joining the police force, but ended up getting a job anyway. Most here suspect it's because of Feliciano Vargas over there," Arthur pointed to a young brown-haired man at the reception desk who strongly resembled the worker at the café. "He was the first person Ludwig befriended here in England, and apparently they're inseparable. It's not shocking, really, considering Feliciano is a bit clingy, but Ludwig doesn't seem to mind. In fact Feli is just about the only person Ludwig smiles around."

Alfred watched as Feliciano waved happily at Ludwig as the German officer walked over to the desk, bright brown eyes shinning. He thought the scene was rather sweet.

Arthur waltzed into the room where the fireplace was and where most of the officers resided, Alfred trailing just behind him. Arthur nudged his side, pointing a finger at a man in a long pink scarf and big coat. Alfred recognized him as the guy who passed Matthew and him at the café earlier.

"That's who you'll be giving those papers to. His name's Ivan Braginski. I know he looks intimidating, but I assure you he is a good fellow, if not a little strange in the head. I'll be waiting for you here," Arthur signaled him off with a wave of his hand. Alfred gulped.

The man certainly was not someone he would go to if he didn't have to - he was tall, broad, and had this creepy smile on his face as if he was planning to shove a knife into someone's skull. That thought didn't exactly calm Alfred's nerves as he came up to the man, awkwardly holding the papers out in front of him.

"I, uh, was told to deliver these to you," Alfred somehow forced out those words without too much trouble as those violet eyes drifted towards him. The other's smile grew.

"You are Alfred, correct?" Ivan didn't wait for Alfred to confirm his question as he continued, "I heard you arrived here yesterday, but I didn't get the chance to see you myself. My name is Ivan Braginski, it's nice to finally meet you." Ivan took the papers and then gripped Alfred's hand in his, handshake firm and almost bone-breaking in force.

Alfred did his best not to cringe in pain. "You . . . too."

After what felt like an eternity Ivan let go, his eyes lingering on Alfred as he waved him goodbye. Alfred wasted no time in returning to Arthur, the feeling of those eyes still on his back making him rush.

"Good job, Alfred." Arthur congratulated him. Alfred only nodded his thanks, too preoccupied with the others in the room.

"You said you were going to introduce everyone to me, right?"

Arthur hummed. "So I did. Who would you like to start with?"

Alfred gazed around the room before finding a group of officers talking off to the side. "How about all of them?"

Arthur looked where Alfred gestured to and started with the one furthest left. "The one with long brown hair is Yao Wang; he's Chinese. Yao's been on the force ever since traveling here from China sometime ago. The black-haired one next to him is Kiku Honda, a young Japanese man who came here similarly to how Yao did. Most of the time he's really quiet and respectful and always follows orders. Quite a good officer, if I say so myself. Both are under my command. Now he," Arthur pointed to the last of the group - a dark-haired man with a curl in his hair. "is one of the officers not in my faction. He's Korean and I'm afraid I'm rather terrible at pronouncing his name, sorry." Alfred nodded, looking around the room for other people. "Why don't I just point all the ones in my faction out to you?" Arthur offered, green eyes gazing softly at him.

"Sure," Alfred shrugged.

He watched as Arthur's eyes surveyed the room before halting on a blonde with long hair and green eyes a shade different from Arthur's own emerald ones. "That's Feliks Łukasiewicz, a Polish - and very flamboyant - officer. The albino next to him is Gilbert Beilschmidt, the older brother of Ludwig and a completely obnoxious fool. Really, he kisses his own arse most of the time." Arthur rolled his eyes and muttered something to himself Alfred could not hear, but he smiled anyway.

Turning his gaze towards a man lounging on the couch Arthur began the introductions again. "Last of all on my faction is Antonio Carriedo; a Spaniard who really needs to take things a bit more seriously, but is good and doesn't question orders that much," Arthur looked at Alfred, eyebrow raised. "So how do you like it? That's my whole faction. I think some could use improvements, especially Francis, but they're all good officers when it comes to getting the job done. I have no doubt you'll be getting along with all of them relatively easy."

Alfred thought so, too. At least none of them seemed the type to reject someone like him.

"I should be getting back to the work in my office now, Alfred. You're welcome to stay here and mingle for a while - I don't have any more tasks for you to do at the moment. Come to my office if you need me," With that Arthur disappeared behind the doors of the room, leaving Alfred in the room with loads of officers he still didn't even know. He was saved from being alone by Francis once again making an appearance next to Alfred.

"You can join me if you would like, Alfred dear. I 'ave nothing to do either, really." Francis lead him to an unoccupied couch and sat down, patting the spot next to him, blue eyes bright. Alfred sat. "So 'ow did you enjoy your little tour?"

"It was fine, I guess. Everyone seems interesting." Alfred stated, that being the only thing he could think of. The answer seemed to satisfy Francis enough because the Frenchman laughed lightly, shaking his head.

"Oh, yes, they are quite all interesting guys, namely the ones on our squad. My closest friends are actually in this faction."

Alfred glanced around, doing a double-take of all the officers. "And they are?"

Francis pointed towards two officers talking with each other. "Gilbert and Antonio. Arthur told you about them I assume?" Alfred nodded. "Me and them 'ave been friends for a long time, long before we joined this place," Francis gestured around the room with his arm.

"So . . . before you moved here?"

"Of course," Francis confirmed. "I've traveled a lot with them. We've been to Germany, France, Spain, Austria . . . lots more than just those four countries. But we finally settled down here, at least for the time being, but I don't really see why any of use would want to leave this place. We get good pay, and it's certainly better than wandering around country after country, not always able to communicate with the residents there."

Alfred listened intently as Francis went on about his travels, the places he went, the experiences he had been through. All of it amazed Alfred. "How did you manage to pay for all these things?"

Francis paused for a moment, smiled, and then started speaking again, "I baked, of course. My little shop back in Paris wasn't just any ordinary shop; things I made there were expensive. I am, after all, a professional baker, and my confections certainly reached the taste buds of all local to the area. Antonio and Gilbert had their own little way of making money, and together we used all of our earnings to travel around the continent, until we ran out of most of our money. That's when we realized we would need to settle down, and we were already in England, so why not just find a place around 'ere? It seemed like a good idea, and it was!" he finished with a ridiculous grin, arms flung out to the side.

Alfred smiled at Francis's happiness, wishing his own life could have been more like the Frenchman's. He'd love nothing more than to be able to see the world and all its beauties. At least England was a start. Another question popped into his mind and, before he could stop himself, he blurted it out, regretting he even spoke at all afterwards, feeling like he had touched a light subject.

"Do you ever miss your home?"

The light shining in Francis's eyes dimmed, but it was only for the shortest of all moments. "Who wouldn't miss their home? I was with my closest friends who were, and are still considered, my family, but my home was always Paris, and still is Paris. Someday I will go back to see her again, but for now this place is the closest thing I 'ave to a home, but I'm okay with that." It was a little saddening to hear Francis talk in such a serious way but Alfred found that he could relate, if only slightly: his home had been his parents, but ever since they died he hadn't had one, at least not until now, where he could at least try to find a new one among Matthew and Scotland Yard.

Sighing Francis got up, stretching out his muscles. "Well I 'ave to get back to work now, Alfred. Au revoir," he said, biding Alfred a farewell. Alfred waited a few minutes before getting up himself and heading out of the room, going back into the hall full of doors. Carefully looking at each door Alfred finally found the one that lead to Arthur's office. Opening it Alfred stepped inside, looking towards the desk Arthur sat at, green eyes glancing up at Alfred's entrance.

"Already done socializing?" Arthur asked, setting down his quill.

"There really wasn't much to do. Francis came over and talked to me for a little while." Alfred placed himself on the couch in Arthur's office, informing Arthur of what he did.

"Sounds boring enough," Arthur mused. Alfred shrugged.

Arthur glanced down at his work and then back up at Alfred. "Sorry but if you're looking for something here there's nothing, honestly. No major cases, not even any good minor ones. That paperwork was the only thing worth doing today, but that's already out of the way." Alfred watched Arthur go through a mental checklist, noticing how his eyebrows came together in a brief moment of thought before parting again, a gentlemanly smile in place on his lips. Alfred found he couldn't keep the eye contact and quickly looked down, focusing his sight on the carpet, eyes running over the designs.

"I still have to get some work finished. Why don't you take a nap? You seem like you didn't get as good a night's rest like you should have."

Alfred only grabbed a pillow and laid down on the couch, answering Arthur's wishes. When he fell asleep he had barely laid down for little over a minute, the scratching of Arthur writing the only sound in the room.

.

He was being shook, that much he was aware of, and he did _not _like it.

Showing his protestation, Alfred rolled over, facing away from whatever was disturbing him. It worked for a minute, but then there was a voice he recognized telling him to get up.

Cracking open his eyes he was met with bright green. The other occupant of the room smiled. "I thought you might sleep forever."

Alfred lazily got up, watching with non-coherent eyes as Arthur grabbed a plate off of his desk and handed it to him. He told it unsteadily, gazing down at what was on the plate.

Chicken and vegetables. Alfred's stomach felt like an abyss when he looked at the food. Just how long had he slept? "Hey, uh, Arthur . . . ?"

"If you're wondering what time it is it's just past six. Since you've been out for hours I figured you were hungry and got food from one of the other officer's here. You better eat before it gets cold." Arthur said, sitting down next to Alfred on the couch. Alfred again felt as if Arthur could read him like a book, but ignored it as he looked back down at the food.

Alfred picked up the fork and slowly began to eat, mentally thanking Arthur for the meal - it was warm and pleasant and one of the best meals he had got within the past couple weeks.

Silent minutes passed as Alfred finished up the last of the food, set the plate down on a small table next to the couch, and turned back to thank Arthur, but ended up instantly freezing.

Arthur's face was less than three inches away from his, green eyes bright in the dimness of the dark office. Alfred almost stopped breathing. "Did you enjoy your meal?" Alfred felt Arthur's warm breath on his face.

"Y-yes, thanks," managed Alfred, limbs stuck awkwardly at his sides, blue eyes wide as he watched Arthur.

He smiled. "That's good. We couldn't have you going hungry on us, now could we? It looks as if you hardly ever eat a proper meal." Alfred felt more than saw Arthur's eyes travel his skinny body. He nearly shivered.

"I, um, usually don't . . . honestly." Alfred admitted, eyes falling down slightly, catching Arthur's frown.

"If you ever need a meal don't be afraid to ask me for one - there's plenty of food here." Arthur told him quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Alfred nodded slightly, looking back into Arthur's gaze. He was at a loss for words and for actions. What was he to do? He suddenly wondered if maybe he was still dreaming but soon realized this was all too real to be a dream. He blinked forcefully after his focus went hazy, then watched as Arthur drew himself back and stood, looking down at Alfred with his normal smile in place. "Would you like to leave now, Alfred? There really isn't anything of much interest going on here, as you can probably tell."

Getting the shock out of his system Alfred stood, bid Arthur a good evening, and left his office to the outside, the sun just starting to disappear over the horizon.

As he walked home he wondered if Matthew was at their apartment or not, though there was really only one way to figure that out.

Rushing up the steps to the apartment Alfred quickly ran in and shut the door, glancing around the room to find Matthew reading on his bed and food bags in the corner.

"Hi, Matt," Alfred greeted him, walking over to his own bed and flopping down on it.

Matthew sat down his book, a bright smile overtaking his features. "I got a job at a convenience store just a few blocks away. Best thing is that the pay is decent, too." Alfred returned his smile at the news.

"That's great! With the way we're going we're gonna get by just fine." Matthew nodded in agreement, happy smile never fading.

"I know; this is turning out easier than what I thought it would be. So, Alfred, how did your day go?"

Alfred's mind froze for a second, not wanting Matthew to know anything that happened after his nap in Arthur's office, even if he really didn't know much of anything that happened either. "I got to know a lot about the officers I'll be working with there. And had some dinner."

Matthew looked back towards the ceiling. "That's good."

"Yeah, it is." _I just really wonder what tomorrow will be like . . ._


	4. Important

This story is being moved and rewritten on my new account. More details are on my profile if any of you want them. This account won't be very active with stories much anymore. PM me if you're curious about anything.


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